


Gold, Dust and Ashes

by Syrenslure



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrenslure/pseuds/Syrenslure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry searches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold, Dust and Ashes

Harry pushes his glasses up with his forearm to rub the sweat from his tired eyes against the sleeve of his robe, leaving a streak of dirt across his forehead. The lightweight robe holds a cooling charm, but even the imminent setting of the sun would do little for the oppressive heat around him until the storm broke. His whole body aches, and his hands have nearly gone numb from the tight two-handed grip he has on his wand, but he knows that he was close.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, concentrating on the slight vibration of the holly in his hand, and the bite of his magic, calling out and crying back to him, 'Closer, Closer'. He follows the beckoning trail, tiredly, sweeping left and right and left again, before finally being pulled to his knees after hours of searching.

He scrabbles through the dirt with his left hand, his wand still clutched in his right. A half dozen chipped and mismatched tea cups join him in his task, though he doesn't remember summoning them, and the earth feels alive, squirming under his fingernails, breaking them away, leaving his fingertips bloody and sore when he finally finds what he has been looking for. He brushes away the last layer of dirt, and the cups vanish as thoughtlessly as they came, as he pries open the moldering lid, the decayed wood splintering in his hands.

It's here, clenched tightly between skeletal hands, high on the remains of the corpse's chest, like a supplicant's offering. Harry exhales slowly, his fear and worry seeping away with the breath. He lays his hands on his tarnished golden prize and the dead hands that have kept it safe, and offers a quick benediction, to whatever deities may be listening, on her behalf, and an appeal for his own forgiveness as he wrenches his treasure free.

Harry hopes it is enough, because he already has plenty of specters to haunt him, without adding to that number. Yet, he feels only a second of remorse for desecrating this grave. He won't let anyone, living or dead, stand between him and his goal.

Surrounded by death, he shivers, feeling this oath take on a magic of it's own.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=40>  



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